After
by AudreytheAwkward
Summary: A new twist on what happened after Gadreel. Sam's POV. (AU) You've never seen a story written like this. Written with the absolutely fantastic MissAntique. You won't know until you look inside! Hurt!Sam. I do not own Supernatural. Review and I'll return the favor.
1. Scene 1

**A/N: I'm SO excited to present my new project! This story is an idea that I had with my dear friend, MissAntique...we're attempting to do something very different from what's usually done on this site.**

**We took two characters and combined them to create a role playing game, but it took off and became a full blown story. I've found that this story reads very much like a play...scene by scene, moment by moment. It's definitely a new challenge for both of us as writers.**

**So we will be setting up each chapter as a "scene". **

**The story will appear in two different forms! This is the most exciting part to me...there are always two sides to a story, yes? I love the idea of knowing that whenever I read a book, only part of the story is being told. You don't get to see the full picture very often! This will be a different, unique challenge for us as writers, and you as readers. Like a (hopefully) organized puzzle, I think.**

**Each of us, myself and MissAntique, are taking on one side of the story. Everything you read here on my profile will be from Sam's point of view, and everything that MissAntique posts will be from Cameron's point of view. This entails different perspectives on events happening in the story, and details and events that will happen in one side of the story and not the other. **

**I'm not promising that any of this will happen in a timely fashion, or that her part of a scene and mine will be posted at the same time, but I hope you're willing to experiment with us as we try this out! **

**As usual...I don't own Supernatural.**

When I was four or five, I got stung by a bee. I tried really hard not to cry. Even at such a young age, I just knew that Winchesters weren't supposed to cry.

Dean never cried.

I knew he was brave, and I wanted to be brave too.

Despite my attempts at heroic, stoic bravery, a couple fat tears leaked out onto my equally fat cheeks. The bee sting was intense pain...for a toddler.

That was the day that we learned I'm allergic to bee stings. When the wounded area started throwing off heat waves and my arm was rapidly swelling, Dean went screaming for Pastor Jim, because Dad was out on a hunt. Dean loaded me into the backseat of Pastor Jim's old pickup, and we rushed to the hospital, my brother whispering encouraging words to me all the way as my airway closed and my arm puffed up to about three times its normal size.

The nurses pulled out the stinger at the hospital, and I remember the pain of it leaving my arm.

Sharp, thick, hot. Not pleasant, yet somehow a relief.

I stayed in the hospital the rest of the day, miserably sick. I didn't feel back to normal for a couple days.

I realize that now, today, Gadreel is my stinger. He's out from under my skin, but he's left sickness and pain that makes my childhood bee sting look and feel like a picnic.

The biggest difference I feel between that incident and my current predicament is not the level of pain.

It's not the amount of agonizing exhaustion, or the raging fever.

When Gadreel was finally gone, completely eradicated from my system, I thought I was going to die.

Cas did too, even though he never said it. His mouth was firmly set in a hard line as he got me back to the bunker and into my bed.

I was too sick to know that Dean was gone.

Then, Cas' healing started making a difference, and suddenly, I just needed my brother. Needed him to be there for me, like he was when I got stung by that stupid bee.

Now, over a week after my life exploded in my face, my brother consumes my thoughts.

I know what he said, and I think he meant it.

That he's poison and he doesn't want to bring me down with him.

That's not all. He still holds me at fault for Kevin's death. Maybe not consciously. It was my hands that killed Kevin. That's what it comes to.

I need to try to be in the present. This, what I'm doing right now, is important.

I shake my head and rest my shoulders and back against the wall of the gas station as I continue to wait. I watch the girl with the blonde hair pace back and forth in front of the coffee shop, her eyes searching warily for me.

When Garth told me that there was an eye witness, and that he thought she would be really useful to the case, I somehow didn't picture this kid. She can't be more than 17, I'm guessing. She's small and skinny, and every movement she makes is a little too fast.

She doesn't look nervous, though. Maybe a little impatient. She's crumpling the corner of the letter I sent to her in between her fingers, bending it up and then back down again, fracturing the crisp perfection of the thick stationary.

If she's anything like me, she's dying of curiosity right now. If someone sent _me_ a letter with no name, just a time and a place, I would be pretty antsy, too. Going out of my mind, actually.

Still, I don't go up to her right away. I need to assess her. Figure out who she is, and exactly why Garth thought I should talk to her.

The hands of my watch scream that this girl is a perfectionist, because I didn't ask her to be here until 4:00. The church bells across the street won't be striking 4 for another thirty three...thirty two minutes.

The girl tucks her hair behind her ear before slamming her hands around her narrow hips. I was right, she's definitely impatient. It's still early, Cameron Smith. Hang in there.

Three minutes drag on, and Cameron seems to just be getting more and more distressed. I can't afford to have her leave altogether, it's been too long of a process to get to her in the first place.

I guess that's what intrigues me the most. This girl seems to be more than the average Jane Smith witness, she carries herself...well, almost like Dean and I do. Not afraid, but rightfully cautious.

Cautious. Adjective. (Of a person) careful to avoid potential problems or dangers.

I step slowly out of the shadows, turning my shoulders at an angle to make it look like I'm just coming around the corner. As I walk past Cameron, I gently tap her shoulder and put a hand on her elbow. Her energy vibrates through my fingertips, rampant and pure.

I hold my breath for a moment as I make contact with her skin.

Wait. Wait to see if she'll run, or scream. Or attack.

She doesn't run or scream, or attack.

Instead, she's leaning slightly into my touch to acknowledge it, and I guide her into the coffee shop.

She complies, but her narrow shoulders are tense. She's ready for anything.

"Play it cool." I whisper in her ear. I shuffle her into a booth, and then go up to the counter and order the biggest coffee I can see on the menu, keeping an eye on my guest the whole time.

The ghost in my mind won't go away. The familiar person isn't a physical presence, but a definite presence nonetheless.

I push the voice away. I need to be fully alert, despite not having slept in….what is it, six days now?

Cameron's watching me with those big brown eyes, not blinking.

Trying to figure out if she knows who I am, maybe.

Trust me, kid. You don't know me from Adam.

I let her stew in silence for a moment longer as I slide a cardboard sleeve onto my coffee and hand a few bills to the barista. I make my way over to the booth and take a seat.

Abruptly, without warning, the green padded bench that I've come to rest on tempts me to fall asleep. Right then and there. I blink furiously and focus back in on Cameron. I can't sleep now.

All the questions that must be raging through her mind are held at bay behind an indifferent facial expression.


	2. Scene 2

"Sorry about the secretive behavior." I begin, batting away sleep. "You must be Cameron?"

She nods curtly. "May I ask who you are?"

"I'm Sam. Someone I know someone who said you could help me. I need to ask you some questions."

"Okay then." she says.

I pull my coat open, a tsunami of cool air hitting the damp heat of my chest. I barely contain a gasp of pained surprise.

My "FBI" badge that I've clipped inside the coat comes out and and I wave it at Cameron.

This badge, along with the matching one I made for Dean, is one of my prouder works of forgery. Dean was almost angry at how good a job I'd done when I first showed them to him.

"Ma'am," I begin. "Tell me everything you can recall about the murder of Kevin Tran."

She stares at me, her gaze hitting me in the pit of the stomach. I'm bothered that I can't even begin to read her expression, but I plow on anyway. "I understand that you're the one who found the body?"

Again, a poker faced response. "Yes, I found it."

It.

"It" was in advanced placement, a good kid, who innocently stumbled into the hell of Winchester life.

Of hunter life.

I try to convince my skin not to turn green as memories of Kevin flash through my mind. More vividly wild than anything else I remember about him is the memory of meeting him. He was terrified. It took me forever to catch him, and the tablet that he wouldn't let go of; and when I did catch him...

'Don't kill me', he said.

Don't kill me.

I want to throw up.

Worse than the memories though, is the complete blank sheet that follows them.

This is why I'm here. To fill in the pieces that my memory cannot. And maybe, to fill in why those memories are gone in the first place.

I'm pulled out of the trench of my mind by the impatient tapping of Cameron's fingernails on the table. Shaking my head, I continue with the questions that need to be asked.

"Was the body damaged in any way? Besides the obvious of his eyes being burned out? Were there any strange marks on him?" My agent voice is thin, faltering, less like a disguise and more like a frayed veil that can almost be seen through.

Almost.

Cameron hesitates, suddenly content to study her arm, or maybe its contrast against the deep crimson colored tabletop.

"There was...some sort of mark on his right shoulder." she finally says.

"Can you describe it?"

She bites her lip, staying focused on her arm. "It was weird..it almost looked like an eye, maybe. I've never seen it before, and it was a bit bloody."

I draw a total blank.

Two decades of supernatural research crammed inside of my brain, and nothing even remotely resembles what she's just told me.

I swallow again and again, forcing myself not to panic, reminding myself that this is more information than I had only moments earlier; this is something.

I scribble it down and force myself to continue. "Anything else strange about the body?"

"Other than his missing eyes, there wasn't anything else odd...although, I couldn't tell what caused his death..."

"Well, that's why I'm talking to you; so we can determine the cause of death and hunt down the guy who did this to Mr. Tran."

Guy. Or monster. Or spirit. Whatever carves eyes into the limbs of its victims.

"And there was no one around when you found the body?"

She shakes her head. "I didn't see signs of anyone."

"Okay." I pause and sip my coffee, groping desperately for a direction to take the interrogation. "What was the temperature like in the area? Did you notice any cold patches, any weird wind?"

She crosses her arms, giving me a you're-a-special-kind-of-stupid-aren't-you look. "Well, he was dead in an alley. They aren't usually warm."

"And the body? Did you touch it? See if it was still warm or not?"

"Yeah, and it was almost freezing cold."

I sigh and pinch my nose between my finger and thumb. "Okay." This is getting nowhere, besides the thing about the eye. Garth told me that this girl had useful information, so maybe I'm just asking the wrong questions.

She leans forward, lowering her voice. "Are you sure you're with the FBI?"

My heart leaps into my throat. I raise my eyebrows, attempting to appear nonchalant, but my heart is thudding. "Excuse me?"

She doesn't bat an eyelash as she repeats the question. "I asked you if you really work for the FBI."

If she wants to be stubborn and daring, she's going to get it thrown right back in her face. "I heard you. Ma'am, what would make you ask a question like that?"

"I've met many people from the FBI, and you don't act like them."

"I understand. I'm undercover right now, and I couldn't risk this conversation being overheard. Okay? If you would like to speak to my home agent to reassure yourself of my identity I can make that happen, okay? I don't want you to be concerned."

She cocks an eyebrow. "That won't be necessary."

She didn't call me out on my bluff, and I'm thankful.

I have no one to be my home agent anymore. Garth, maybe. Even Garth isn't 100% loyal to me anymore. I am truly alone.

A firm, female voice forces me from my selfish reverie. "So, do you have any more questions for me?"

I pull a folded sheet of paper out of my pocket as she stands up to leave.

"If you wouldn't mind filling this out, we need to have your information on file, if any developments in the case requires us to bring you in for questioning again."

Like the badges, this "official" form is a pride and joy for me. Maybe Dean and I don't ever have kids. We have forgeries instead.

That's depressing.

I hand Cameron a pen, explaining how the form needs to be filled out.

She stares at it for such a long time that I'm about to start explaining it all to her again, but then she moves, her handwriting slowly taking over the blank spaces on the paper. I lean back and stare at her as I finish my coffee.

It's almost intimidating that she's this smart, this poised. Everything inside of me is screaming to find out more about her, but my time is up. The corner of the pages bumps up against my hand, and she thrusts the pen out at me, tip first. I take it back, pretending not to notice the obviously threatening move. An essential, wordless, "I'm watching you."

"Thank you." I tuck the pen back in my pocket, then extend my hand and stand up. "We'll be in touch."

She takes my hand and shakes it firmly.

Her straight-to-the-point attitude allows her to quip out one word. "Alright."

"Thanks again for your cooperation." I smile professionally, a look I practiced for years at Stanford.

_Bye-bye law degree, down the toilet you went._

"Anytime." She doesn't turn to leave, though. Just kind of stares at me. Like she's sizing me up. Again.

I sigh and cross my arms. "Is there something else? You seem tense."

She mirrors me, crossing her own arms. "Just curious, why are you asking about this so late? The bod was found two days ago, and I've already been asked what happened by several other people."

I cough. "This is a highly irregular case. I mean, do you think the FBI finds people with their eyes burned out every day?" I let my shoulders drop. Maybe that will make me look more vulnerable; although, I'm not sure that's the look I need to be going for right now. "Look, I'll be honest with you. We are in over our heads. We're just going over everything as many times as we can."

She hesitates. "Well, if you're in over your heads, perhaps you could use some assistance?"

My jaw feels heavy, and I realize that my mouth has dropped open. Maybe this is what Garth was talking about. I try to recall back to our exact conversation. He'd said,

_Hey, Sam. This girl, Cameron. She could be really useful. Man she, is something else. I really, really think you should talk to her. She is special stuff, man_.

And maybe she is special stuff. Or maybe she's just nosy and suspicious.

"That's why I just talked to you." I say gently. "Thank you, you've been very helpful."

"I'd like to be more helpful. I'm pretty good at investigations." she replies.

Okay. Stubborn and nosy. I'm calling this one. "Ma'am, please. I do appreciate your help, but this is official police business."

She actually goes so far as to roll her eyes at me. "Are you just going to keep that act up until I leave?"

"Ma'am, I'm warning you. I can arrest you for disrespect to a police officer." I say.

I want to tell her to quit being smart with me, and that she really wouldn't want to get involved with what we're dealing with. I don't want to have another death on my hands. Not this soon.

She pulls a full sass on me, crossing her arms and leaning forward. "Go ahead." she says flatly. "I dare you."

So she's got an impressive amount of bravery, I'll give her that. Bravery or stupidity. Maybe both.

"Look, lady. I will arrest you." I press a button on my watch and pretend to talk into it. "This is Agent Oswald. I'm going to need backup."

She snorts, raising her eyebrows at me, like she can see through all of this. Maybe she can.


	3. Scene 3

**A/N: I played more with the idea of Sam having been driven crazy by what has happened to him...maybe not crazy. There's definitely more of a panicked, lost side to him. Let me know what you think! **

The barista's starting to stare. I groan. Time to give up on the charade. I grab Cameron's arm roughly, pulling her back out of the shop.

"Okay." I growl. "Who the hell are you?"

Dean would know how to sweet talk his way out of this, but all I can think of is some lame comment about romance that probably won't work.

She turns on the girl lashes, blinking furiously at me as she starts to talk. "Just a curious girl who wants to know what you're really up to. So...what are you up to?"

We're playing each other. Con on con. Liars.

I rake through my options.

Do I play the insanity card?

I've been too logical and precise to play the insane card at this point.

Romance is out.

Romance is always out; I'm not the player my brother is.

I wish that the fake-backup that I made a fake-call to would fake-get here already. I'm drowning here.

"You...you wouldn't believe me if I told you." I finally stutter. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm going to go now. Just forget about me. For your own sake."

She grabs my arm firmly and pulls at me to turn me back around.

"Hold on a second. You just tried to convince me that you're with the FBI, and now you want me to act like nothing happened?"

Indignation. Noun. Anger or annoyance provoked by what is perceived as unfair treatment.

"Wait. No." I'm calming down. I hold my hand to my forehead, beating back the raging headache that this is causing. I take a few breaths to try to collect my thoughts. "You're...you're smart. And I..." I gesture wildly. "I'm completely alone, trying to figure this out."

Dean.

Kevin.

Bobby.

Amelia.

They're all gone.

I run my hands through my hair. "Cameron, I know this is crazy. But I've been jumping out on a limb just talking to you. Why not jump out a little further?" I grab her arms and bend down, staring her right in the eye. "Do you want to help me solve this murder? I'm not FBI. I'm just a crazy man who needs help. A lot of help."

I sound like a really, really bad soap. This is it. This is all I've got left.

She raises an eyebrow, but she's not running. That's got to be a good sign. She thinks for a moment, letting me keep her arms secured in mine.

I pull away slowly, resignedly.

Finally she sighs, sticking her hands in the pockets of her dark jeans as she shrugs.

"Why not. I've got nothing better to do." She stares up at me, contemplating me studiously.

Studious. Adjective. Done deliberately or with a purpose in mind.

I meet her gaze. Our drastic height difference makes me feel like I'm living in a different atmospheric level altogether, but I'm kind of used to it. The weird thing is how unintimidated she is. Her personality is almost making me feel like she's taller than I am.

I grope for a plan. She seems to be the boss now, but I want to keep as much control of the situation as I can.

"Okay. Can you meet me back here tomorrow at 2?"

She nods. "I can do that."

My paranoia kicks in and I edge her away from the coffee shop. "Okay. Good. Make sure you're not followed home."

She smirks. "Will do."

"Okay. Uh...bye." I turn to head down the street and go around the corner.

It's going to be a long walk back to the motel.


	4. Scene 4

You'd think that I've grown a third eye, the way the front desk receptionist at the motel looks at me. I acknowledge her shock with a polite nod and stumble past her to the elevator. I'm too burned out to be bothered to give her an explanation.

I don't even know her name.

That strikes me as vaguely rude, seeing as I've been here for over a week; but then again, I'm too burned out to care.

She has a right to stare, anyway. I caught sight of myself in the mirror this morning, and there's not much more flesh on me than a skeleton, and the abnormally pale skin on my face isn't helping with the imagery.

I look like I'm celebrating Halloween in the middle of June.

While I was walking from meeting Cameron back to the hotel, which is only about a mile or two, I fell.

Like an old man.

Tripped on air, or my feet decided they were done moving, I don't know. So in addition to the zombie look I have going, my knees and hands are scraped to hell.

I pity this desk attendant. I would be shocked, too, if a tall, slouched skeleton came limping out of the summer heat; greasy hair and bloody, ripped up dress pants a suit coat drenched in a fevered sweat.

It's downright disgusting.

Bless her for not calling the police.

"Have a nice evening, sir." the nameless girl says slowly as I limp into the elevator.

The frayed, green carpet reeks of strong chemical cleaner from the recently departed housekeeping staff. While unpleasant, it beats the alternative.

This place is building up pros for itself.

Elevator, polite-ish staff, clean-ish carpet. I'm going to write them a nice review on TripAdvisor.

_Came to seek answers about dead friend whose death I may or may not be responsible for, got abandoned by my brother and my best friend(who's an angel). _

_Staff politely ignored my distracting health condition, and the bathroom perfectly suited my needs for the numerous times I was sick in it during the course of my stay. I was able to perform top secret activities with the assistance of your lovely deadbolt on the door to the room, and I painted creepy magic stuff on your walls to keep out angels and demons, which are both real, by the way. I'll pay for the damage with the money I hustled in pool, and the cash from my credit card frauds. _

_Thanks. _

My key grates painfully in the lock for a few minutes, my mind arguing with itself about how keys and locks actually work, while my eyes try to decide whether or not I can see straight today.

Once I finally make it past the door, I bolt it behind me and kneel down beside the bed.

Pull the suitcase out from under it. That's what I should be doing. Instead, my face gets up close and personal with the hazel bedspread, heat rising from my stomach. I dry heave a few times, the violent wracks of my shoulders forcing my head up and down against the mattress.

pull the padlocked suitcase from under the bed. Despite refusing housekeeping service and keeping the door locked, I'm still paranoid. The sigils around the room have kept my old friends and enemies out so far, but I'm not sure those will last. I flip open the suitcase and start spreading its content around the room.

I'm making so many holes in the wallpaper of this room, all these push pins. Pieces of evidence, and drawings that would appear as no more than scribbles to the uneducated eye. And a picture of Kevin. One that portrays him when he was still alive, and his eyes were whole and in his head.

I reach out to pick it up and hiss as my burnt hand bumps into the bedside table.

My palms are mysteriously burnt; so badly that they are blackened. I keep them bandaged, but that doesn't do much good.

The burns are the only things I can see, the only things that I feel from that night. I don't know how it happened, how they got there, and my stomach churns when I consider the possible connection between my burnt hands and Kevin's burnt eyes.

Between my injured knees, my intense muscle loss, and my burnt hands, getting undressed is really difficult, so I skip that part and start a cold stream of water in the shower, and step under fully clothed. The wet bandages cling painfully to my raw hands, so I unwrap them and let the bandages fall to the bottom of the tub, then let my body follow them down, ignoring the nasty color the water turns. I lay down, full length in the bottom of the tub, barely avoiding slipping and hitting my head, and let the water cool me down.

I won't go to sleep in here. I won't drown.

I don't know if I can get up, now that I'm down here.

The thing that finally gets me up and out is the pain. Pain at a level 9 and the lure of painkillers are a powerful incentive to get up.

I slosh out of the bathroom, making puddles in my wake as I head into the bedroom again and find my pills, swallowing three of them bone-dry. I'm not sure what they are; Dean has offered them to me several times over the years, only describing them as "effective". It took the trials and whatever happened to me before Kevin's death to finally get me bad enough to accept them.

I learned one of the side effects really quickly, or maybe it's just my scrambled eggs brain….I'm gonna go with saying it's the medication.

I dream.

I'm just thankful that dreams are the only images that can haunt me. At least I don't have any memories of what actually happened. Although...that's more frightening. The not knowing.


	5. Scene 5

The dreams don't last, and I can't sleep.

I open my laptop, unsure of where to start, but needing to dig deeper into Cameron's tip about the image of the eye.

One of my dreams is in the room, and I can feel her. She's one of the few dreams who is always welcome.

"You're looking in all the wrong places." she says, kissing my ear as she throws her arms around my neck.

"Don't you think I know that, Jessica?"

I've never told Dean that I still see her. It's not everyday, and not all the time. And she's not a side effect of the drugs. She's been around much longer.

The fire.

The blood, too warm and too real, hitting me in the face.

Her hair wafting in the fumes, brushing over her face as she was hanging from the…

I can still smell it when she's here. The burnt-ness. The smoke.

Jess puts her hand over mine, holding it. "You're thinking about Kevin." she breathes softly.

"Of course I am." I put my other hand over hers. Sometimes it's like she's really here.

Except touching her doesn't hurt my hands….it just hurts everything else.

I don't care if she's not really here. It's enough for me, for now, to just _feel_ like she's here.

"How could I be thinking about anything else?" I respond.

I slowly close the laptop and turn to kiss Jess, but as I do, she's gone, leaving a slight smoky scent behind.

My hands are almost vibrating with my trembling, and I barely stand up on the rocking ship that my motel room floor has become.

Swaying and grabbing at anything that is solid enough to hold me up, I make my way from the desk to the bedside table and find the prescription bottle. After several attempts, I realize I'm shaking too badly to get it open.

The wall remains blessedly solid as I slide down and lean my head against it, still clutching the bottle in my hands. Breathe. That's the key. In and out, deep as you can.

I can only describe my lungs as a pair of bouncy sponges that refuse to take in air. I can sort of hear myself making gurgling noises, the only reward for my attempts at inhaling.

I don't recall ever having panic attacks before the trials...but maybe it's a kind of PTSD. It would make sense.

Finally, the child locked-cap comes off the bottle with a satisfying pop. I rattle a few capsules out into my hand and swallow them dry. It's too many, and it will only make the dreams worse. If I can stand again, maybe it'll be worth it.

After they kick in and the room is still again, I find that my hands are numbed enough to remove my drenched clothing. I strip down, leaving the drippy, torn mess in a corner. I turn the water on again, a little warmer this time. If I wish hard enough, maybe it will wash away Jess' lingering existence. Then again, maybe if I wish hard enough, it won't.

I lean my head on the wall of the shower, the water washing down my back. If I wasn't 6'4'', maybe the water would wash over my head without me bending double.


	6. Scene 6

The shower was good, the research is bad. The no sleeping is bad.

Good would be sleep, with no hallucinations. Good would be finding Kevin's killer.

And good...well, I'm not completely sure it exists anymore, if it ever did.

The sun rises, coating my scattered notes and scribbles in sunlight. Highlighting all my shortcomings and mistakes.

I can't stay in the motel room anymore, not with carved-up eyes and the presence of a dead girlfriend surrounding me.

I try to catch the name of the girl at the front desk, and she tosses it to me before disappearing behind her computer monitor.

Kelly.

Kelly thinks that Sam is crazy. Kelly either feels sorry for Sam or is afraid of him. Or both.

There's no word for that.

Somehow, despite the meds and the sleep deprivation and the hallucinations and whatever other torments are wreaking havoc on my mind and body, I end up at the cafe that I'm supposed to be meeting Cameron at. I'm not as early as I expected. Only thirty-four minutes. Apparently, I'm also hallucinating the passing of time. I was just here a few hours ago...wasn't I?

I order a coffee, getting the same look from the barista...Maria...that I got from Kelly.

I have to find a word for that.

Tragedy?

Tragedy. Noun. An event causing great suffering, destruction, and distress, such as a serious accident, crime, or natural catastrophe.

Is what I'm receiving from their gazes and glances a recognition of tragedy?

The coffee steams gleefully at my laptop's side, begging to be noticed. My white-mittened hands shy away from the heat and scrabble along at the keyboard.

Internet search.

Countless pictures of eyes.

Jess is sitting behind me. "Sam, stop." she grabs one of my hands and shows it to me. The discolored skin under the bandages can't be mine, but it is. Burned, bruised. The shaking is mine, too...it makes it hard to type, hard to hold on to my coffee.

"You're making yourself sick with all of this. When will you just admit you can't crack this?" Jess muses sympathetically.

I pull my hand away.

"You know why you asked her for help, don't you? Cameron?" Jess asks me.

I know, but I don't grace her question with an answer. Especially because the other people in the coffee shop might weird out if they hear me talking to myself. Don't be stupid, people. I'm not talking to myself, I'm talking to my dead fiance. Get your facts straight.

"You know." Jess whispers. "You trusted her. Just long enough to invite her along. And no matter what you tell yourself, that she's smart, or different, you know the truth."

I look up and see Cameron, trying to sneak up on me.

"It's because she look like me." Jess confirms my greatest fear in one sentence. "You invited her in because she reminds you of me."

Don't Jess, just...don't.

Cameron's coming closer, but I keep pretending that I haven't noticed her yet, that I haven't registered that she has the same piercing green eyes, the same softly curled blonde hair, that same….everything. Almost.

"What are you so upset about, Sam? It's okay. Natural, even. Don't let it get to you." Jess presses.

Cameron cuts Jess off, announcing her supposedly secret arrival. "Well, you're here early." she comments.

"You came." I begin, playing along.

I'm rocked by Jess' revelation. I think that somehow, I knew that I was drawn to Cameron because I missed Jessica, but having the feeling confirmed is...I don't know what's going on in my head.

Jessica died years ago. I will always love her, but picking another woman to match her? _Replace _her?

"I said I would." Cameron states briskly.

I gesture for her to sit down.

The laptop monitor creates the perfect excuse to tear my gaze from her, even if just for a moment.

"I want to know more about the eye symbol." I begin.

"Have you found anything about it?" She leans forward, her hair falling against her cheek as she tries to see the screen. She tucks the loose strands behind her ears impatiently as I turn the screen around to show her my scant google results.

"No. You didn't exactly give me much to go on. I did find that the actual FBI didn't record any such symbol. I want to know if they're covering something up and why."

She bites her lip, taking in the few images on the screen, then shaking her head dismissively.

"So what did it look like exactly? How big was it? Did it look tattooed, burned, or painted onto the skin?" I bombard.

"Woah, one question at a time. As I told you, it looked like an eye. The 'eye' was oval shaped with a circle in the center of it. It looked like it had been carved into the victim's arm."

"Carved...okay..." I type into my laptop again, still at a loss.

"Any more questions about the mark?"

"You know you're going to have to start giving her more information if you want her to help." Jess prods me in the back.

Ignoring Jess, I focus in on Cameron. The two girls are bleeding together into one in my head, arguing with each other as they become each other. I press my hand against the pill bottle shaped bulge in my coat pocket and inhale deeply, then move my hand away.

"No, but I had questions about the way you found him. Beyond the mark." I make myself stay in the conversation, in reality.

Cameron leans back, staring at the coffee menu behind me as she begins to speak, her gaze racing along the curves of the white, handwritten chalk letters.

"Well, I was taking a shortcut through this alley when I noticed someone lying down beside the dumpster. I moved closer and noticed that it was a man lying on his back, and his eyes were gone; burnt out. His face was covered in blood, as was his arm that had the mark. His clothes were pretty tattered as well."

Poor Kevin. Bile rises in my throat.

"What, like he'd been in a fight or something?" I manage to choke out.

Cameron thumps her fist on the table, startling me a little.

Her eyes light up eagerly. "Maybe. It was mainly his shirt that was ripped up. The sleeve of the arm with the mark was ripped off, and there was no sign of it in the alley."

I can't focus anymore. This girl is so beyond me, so weird.

"Cameron...why are you helping me?" I blurt.

Her eyes bore into me, just like Jess'. After a moment, she looks down at her lap, breaking eye contact. A tell.

"I told you, I'm curious." she says carelessly.

"This is dangerous, and honestly, you wouldn't help me if you knew how deeply I'm actually involved."

She looks back up and rolls her eyes at me, ticking things off on her fingers. "First off, danger doesn't concern me. I've been in the middle of some pretty nasty business before, and last I recall, you asked me for help."

Overconfident. Adjective. possessing an excessive or unreasonable amount of confidence.

I press my palms against the table and lean forward. "Trust me when I say you have NEVER been involved in something like this before. I promise you that. And I asked for your help out of desperation. I'll take information from you, but I'm not getting you involved."

"Well, I'm already involved whether you like it or not." Her hands grope and twitch inches away from mine. I get the feeling she wants to grab my wrists to keep me from leaving her behind.

"_KEVIN TRAN HAS BEEN ELIMINATED." _my head screams.

I barely manage to hold back a cry as the remnants of angel radio crackle to life in my head. "Kevin Tran has been eliminated. Well done, Gadreel." Metatron's voice bites into my head. "Do you want your next assignment?"

"Without Sam Winchester," Gadreel's smooth voice says, "I am not sure I can continue. He was a vital part of my performance and abilities."

"Find someone else." Metatron demands. "Because the next one on the list is Dean Winchester."

Cameron slowly bleeds back into the focus of my vision as the words of Metatron and Gadreel fade out.

My brother's in danger, and nothing else matters.

I push away from the table and shove my laptop back into its bag. "Do you have a car?"

"Yeah..." she replies hesitantly. My vision has blurred over from the intense headache, and I blink furiously to try to see Cameron again.

"We need to go. Now." I urge. "I'll explain on the way."

She stands with me. "Okay then."


	7. Scene 7

**A/N: This chapter was rough and awkward to write/edit, so I hope it comes out well.**

**It got me thinking though. I've had this thought before. Deep moment. Ready?**

**It HURTS when something you pour your writer's heart and soul into is not well received, simply because it's not as popular a topic as other content that is written. **

**Anyone know what I'm talking about? I think it's a good lesson for us as writers...people read what they want, and that might not necessarily be the writing that you've passionately poured yourself into. It's a hard business, everyone.**

***gets down off soapbox and walks away***

I stumble along behind Cameron, who doesn't really seem to notice my distress. I'm straining for any remaining contact with Gadreel and Metatron, but they're gone now. My head screams rawly, burnt by their presence.

Maybe the girl _does_ notice that I'm struggling. Once we reach the car she opens the passenger door for me, jingling the keys in between her fingers.

"Alright. I'm driving. You tell me where to go." she announces.

"Take 13th down to Eldridge and go right." My hands are sweaty as I pull my phone out of my pocket and hit #1 speed dial.

I need Dean to answer. I need it.

Dean's voicemail picks up.

"Dean, please call me back. Man, It's important. I think Metatron's got you on his hit list. Please call me back!"

Cameron doesn't poke and prod for answers. She's focused. Her knuckles stand out white as she squeezes her fingers around the steering wheel, her eyes not wavering from the road.

I call Dean three more times, leaving similar messages each time.

Finally, the phone drops back into my lap, along with my defenses.

"I guess you know I haven't been completely honest with you." I begin slowly.

She relaxes, turning to me for a second, her eyes running over me lazily. She snorts."Yeah, I figured that out a long time ago."

"Kevin is...was...a very close friend of mine, okay? And it's my fault that he's dead."

It's my fault.

"I didn't actually kill him, but someone used me to make sure he ended up dead."

"How did someone use you to do that?" Cameron asks.

I can still hear Gadreel's victorious scream in my head as my consciousness trickled away.

I cough. "They tricked my brother, Dean, and then used him to get to me...then they...uh...brainwashed me and drugged me into killing Kevin."

"And what exactly did they do to 'brainwash' you?" She presses.

"That's kind of what I'm trying to figure out. I don't remember anything until about three days ago."

Cameron shakes her head sympathetically, but I would be naive to think that she actually believes me.

"Do you know who did this to you?" she asks, barely-noticeable sarcasm dripping in her voice.

I bite it out. "His name is Gadreel."

This girl might chew through her lip at the rate she's going. "So how are you planning on figuring out what happened?"

"Well Gadreel is part of a...well, I guess you could call it some sort of terrorist cult. That's what my brother and I do for a living...we hunt them down. Gadreel is just higher rank and smarter than what we are used to dealing with."

My chance for her to actually think I'm being truthful are draining away with every word. I might as well throw in, 'and oh, yeah, I'm not talking about a human cult. I'm talking about angels. My brother and I hunt monsters'.

She hasn't kicked me out of the car yet. She must be thinking hard, because the deeper the wrinkles on her forehead get, the faster we move down the highway.

I clear my throat, not trusting her to go this fast. She hasn't proven herself to have Dean's driving skills.

"So did this 'Gadreel' want you and your brother out of the way? Is that why he did what he did?" she asks, not noticing my hinting.

I run my hand through my hair, staring out at the front windshield so that I can shout a warning to her if I need to. "Basically, yeah. We're too good at what we do to get left alone." It's not boasting. It's just the truth. "And they went after me, now they're going after Dean...my brother."

"Should we find your brother then? Before this crazy guy gets him?"

Her voice sounds like a robot, one who has frantically spinning wheels going in its head, but continues to function to upkeep the appearance of normality.

"That's where we're headed." I answer. "It's a long drive, though. Please go as quickly as you can."

My shoulders are pressed back against the seat as she hits the accelerator. Despite all my reservations about this spunky blonde, she's helping me.

That's more than I can say for either Dean or Cas right now. Murderers can't be choosers, I suppose.

Murder. Verb. The unlawful premeditated killing of one human being by another.

So, technically. This isn't murder. What do you call it when the killing of one human by an angel, who is currently possessing a human?

Smiting?

It's not my fault.

It's not my fault!

My heart races, beating a harsh pattern against my Chest. Blood crashes into my brain, my stomach, my lungs.

I can't breathe. I choke on a mouthful of air, digging my nails into the burnt skin on my palms to bring me back down, to help me focus.

Dean. Keeping Dean alive is my priority

I dial Cas' number now. If Dean won't speak to me, there's no way…

Not after what Gadreel did to him. What I did to him.

I sit in shocked silence when his gravelly voice sounds out on the other line.

"Hello?"

Castiel repeats the confused greeting a few times before my tongue remembers how to do the talking thing.

"Cas! It's Sam. Listen. Metatron and Gadreel are going after Dean." the words tumble out all at once as my panic builds. "I'm on my way...I was wondering if you could hit the bunker and make sure he's okay."

My hand goes to my coat again, to the bottle of pills that are there.

I don't need them. I don't need them.

"I'm about an hour away." I tell the angel.

The phone crackles loudly as I hear Cas' wings settle.

"I'm here. He's alright." he says.

The painful tightening in my chest loosens a little. My brother is still alive.

"I'm on my way. Stay with him, Cas."

I don't give him time to object before I end the call.

The obvious question comes from the driver's side of the car. "Who's Cas?"

"A friend." I say simply. "Turn onto I-25. South."

"A close friend?" She presses.

"He's practically like a brother to us."

Jess smiles in the backseat. "Good, Sam. Keep it simple."

I have no idea how long she's been there.

The car is starting to smell like her perfume. Cherry blossoms. Or is that Cameron's?

"Dean won't talk to me because he's ashamed of what happened."

The unnatural turn in conversation doesn't catch Cameron off guard as much as it does me.

My head hurts to talk about Dean. The thousands of questions I have for him that are still unanswered. "And Cas hasn't been talking to either of us; he doesn't trust Dean and he thinks I'm still brainwashed."

"That's horrible." she says. It's the same matter-of-fact tone that I'm starting to get used to with her, only a little softer. She looks over at me, her hand barely brushing the top of mine. I'm not sure she even knows what she just did, but I take it as a sign that she cares. Maybe even believes me a little bit.

"Thank you." I manage.

"Sam." Jess says gently from the backseat. "It's alright to be upset."

I shove my thumb into the center of my palm, digging it into the raised white scar that has helped me block out the dead in my mind for over two years now.

Jess is wrong. I have to be strong enough to see this out and save Dean.

"So where are we going?" Cameron asks, her hand far away from mine again, gripping the steering wheel with the same steely ferocity as before.

"Home." I reply. "We aren't exactly...on the best terms with...well, anyone. Ever. Our ancestors left us a great secluded place we can defend. It's right past the state line, in Iowa." I pause. "You have no idea how much I'm trusting you to not tell anyone the location."

"Hey don't worry, my lips are sealed." her slim fingers slide across her lips in a twisting motion.

I nod and stare out my window, my heart twisting its way up to my throat again. Jess would always do the same motion when she was keeping a secret, her brown eyes laughing playfully at me.

"The resemblance is...oh, what's the word...uncanny?" Jess muses in my ear.

The putrid combination of burning flesh, smoke, and cherry blossoms is choking me.

I gaze out the window, my tired eyes blurring the scenery into a monotonous greenish-brown. Somewhere in the thick fog of my head, I hear a rhythm tapping itself out, faster and faster.

Cameron. Her fingertips pound against the steering wheel, the same nervous energy that she displayed outside the cafe at our first meeting.

My heart is beating faster and faster, or maybe that's just the pulse in my ears.

Isn't it the same thing? I slip my hand into my bag and pull out one of my instant-break ice packs, snap and shake it, and slide it under my shirt, against my left side. Keeping my core temperature down is challenging, but this seems to be a solution that works, at least temporarily.

"Alright, I've told you a lot about me. I think it's your turn." I say.

The words slide out of her mouth as if through a filter. "Well what would you like to know about me?"

"Um, how about we start with, I don't know...who the hell ARE you?" I ask. "Who just agrees to drive with a stranger who lied about being FBI? And who just goes along with a story about being brainwashed to murder?"

"Ease off." Jess warns me.

"My name is Cameron Morgan, and I have been through enough that your brainwashing story is not unbelievable for me. And I'm going along with all this because I want to know what happened to your dead friend."

She firmly presses her lips together, like she's afraid to keep talking and tell me the truth in secrets.

So not Smith, like she told Garth. Maybe even Cameron Morgan isn't her real name.

I press the ice pack closer to my skin, shuddering as it hits a nerve with its freezing touch. "And you met Garth. He gave you my letter in the first place. How'd you run into him, and what gave him the idea to give you the letter?"

"I literally bumped into him on the way out of the police department. I had just finished explaining how I found the dead body."

"And that was it?"

"I guess he figured that I would be able to help since I found the body." she shrugs, still refusing to look away from the road.

"Okay." So it had been typical Garth, going out on a limb of simple faith like he always does.

I see Jess again, blinking with Cameron's eyelids, breathing with Cameron's lungs. Cameron is wearing Jessica's face. Or vice verse.

I can't stand it any more.

I look at the small fingers, still tapping out an odd rhythm on the steering wheel. It's easier. Sort of.

I hum tunelessly to myself for a moment, distracting my brain from the pain as I shift the ice pack again. The compress almost warm already.

I have to break the silence.

"So...are you on your own? Family? Partners?"

"My mom is the principle of a school out of town, so I don't see her often. I have several friends I keep in touch with as well."

Her voice lilts in the tune of a rehearsed speech that I know all too well. She's not a hunter, obviously. So what is she?

"So besides family you're just a loner?" I press.

Jess' fingertips dance across my forehead. "You're burning up again." Her tone is serious, but I brush her hand away.

"Not exactly."Cameron's voice comes to me.

Something about her tone makes me stare at her and...crap. I shake my head and stare.

The glowing cheekbones, framed by the luscious blonde locks that perfectly frame... Okay, now I've done it.

I turn my head to the window again, feeling the blood rush to my face. Great. Like I needed more body heat ears are buzzing with fever. I can hear it now that we are sitting in silence.

I get another ice pack, doing a count of the remaining ones in my bag by touch. Five.

I try to think about Cameron, figure her out, but Jess is constantly interrupting me.

I have more important things to worry about, anyway. Like saving Dean. Anything after that I will deal with when it comes around.


	8. Scene 8

I have to form some sort of plan, but the longer I try to focus, the more confused my thoughts become.

Dean will have sigils on the wall of the bunker, sure. But that hasn't exactly proven to be a foolproof plan in the past.

I've still got an angel blade in my bag, but if Gadreel's wits are still in tact, he won't let me get close enough to even poke him with it.

As I see the upcoming sign for our exit, I remember that I'm not driving. Cameron is. She doesn't know how to get to the bunker.

"Exit 28." I direct.

"Okie Dokie." she says.

I like her. She says okie-dokie.

"So what happens if this Gadreel guy is already there when we show up?" Cameron asks.

"Well, Cas is there...I'm sure he can handle it."

Am I sure? I'm wondering if my arrival, my presence, will make any difference at all against Gadreel.

Gadreel.

Angel.

Not human.

I should probably warn this girl. She has no idea what she's stepping into.

"Look, I should tell you...this will get weird." I begin awkwardly. I've done this before. I've explained the supernatural to hundreds of people. Why is it so hard this time?

"This...cult...that Gadreel is in, they're powerful. And tricky You should know that anything can happen, okay?"

"If you say so." she says, looking at me like I'm some distorted monster. I suppose I am.

"It's not a joke." I hesitate. "Have you ever had any sort of combat training?"

Snort. "Oh, yes. I've had lots of training."

"Any actual experience?" I press.

"Tons."

Aloof. Adjective. Not friendly or forthcoming; cool and distant.

As we pull off the exit, I clutch the bag to my chest, feeling my sawed off shotgun and the angel blade through the fabric. Drive faster, I beg silently.

Jess is being surprisingly quiet.

"How much further?" Cameron wonders.

"Turn off here." I point at a little dirt road. "Hurry."

My sense of urgency builds in my gut, and I've learned to begin to trust it. I pull out my phone to try to call Dean again.

With a loud pop, everything in the car suddenly dies. The car comes to a rolling stop, crunching up gravel as Cameron steers it to the side of the road.

The sun watches suspiciously, hushing the wind so that even the corn stalks on either side of us are silent.

Cameron sighs, turning the key in the ignition a few times and getting nothing. "Okay...I take it we're walking?"

I'm far from being as ridiculously calm as she is.

"Lock the doors." I say quickly. I pull the felt pen out of my bag and start making a sigil on the window. I doubt I can write it fast enough, but it's worth a try.

"See this?" I point at the sigil I just drew and toss the pen to Cameron. "Draw exactly the same thing on your window."

I pull out the shotgun and ram a fistful of ammo into the barrel.

She carries out the command surprisingly quickly, with amazing accuracy.

Is she even human? Should I be worried about her too?

"Mind telling me what's going on?" she asks, studying the sigil curiously.

I hand her the angel blade, praying that she won't make a fool out of herself. I shake my head and put my finger to my lips. Then I point at my eyes, then the windows. Get the drift. If she's so smart, she'll know what I mean. I push my seat back and draw another sigil on the back window, and then one on the windshield.

Silence.

I glance at the girl who has suddenly become my combat partner. Her hands are steady as she grips the blade, glancing methodically out of each window.

If Gadreel is trying to build suspense, he's doing a great job. If a fly were to sneeze right now, we would hear it, it's so quiet.

It shouldn't be this quiet.

Jess.

I turn my head, and sure enough, there he is, sitting where Jess was only minutes earlier. I open my mouth to scream at Cameron to run, but Gadreel knows he's been detected.

The world outside the windshield flips upside down, then continues to spin, until it stops with a deafening symphony of crushing metal and breaking glass.

The sigils are gone, splintered with the broken windows.

Darkness leaks into my vision, and I struggle to hang on to consciousness. I must be hurt.

Right before the last glimmer fades, I hear Cameron moan. Good. She's still…

I feel Jess' lips against mine. I know them. I would know them anywhere. "I love you." she says.

"I love you too….Jess, why are you crying?"

But she's gone.

...Alive. Cameron is still alive.


	9. Scene 9

This is not a gentle waking, an ease back into consciousness.

The pain in my arm has me awake so fast that the wind is knocked out of me.

I hear voices.

Gadreel.

Cameron.

I lay as still as I can, trying to synonymously get air back into my lungs and hold my breath.

"If you want to help, see if you can find a phone and call the police." Cameron says.

Her voice sounds guarded, but not half as much as it should be. Not if she knew the monster she was speaking with.

I open my eyes a slit, realizing that Gadreel won't be able to see me. Cameron's shielding me from view. Slowly, I reach behind the girl, clutching my bad arm to my chest.

How bad is it?

No time to find out.

As discreetly as I can, I tap her t-shirt, right over the angel blade at her hip. Get the hint. Play along.

I don't know if Cameron got the message, but she's not backing down from Gadreel. "Are you not answering me for a reason?" she says brusquely.

"Girl, you're obviously out of your mind from the crash. Just get out of the way and let me help this poor man." Gadreel says slowly, dabbing at a southern accent.

He steps closer, and I shut my eyes. He can't know I'm awake. That would just put Cameron in more danger. I'm in no shape to fight right now.

Cameron spreads her feet apart and jams her hands against her hips, her shadow falling over me in the coming twilight.

Confidence. Noun. A feeling of self-assurance arising from one's appreciation of one's own abilities or qualities.

"I'm not out of my mind, and you are not helping him." She barks.

I reach out and tap her hip again. Kill him. Kill him now before he can kill you. Or me.

Her reaction is instantaneous. The knife slashes out as she lunges forward.

I use the time she's giving me to pull myself partway out of the window.

Agony races from my fingertips to the back of my neck, forcing a strangled moan from my throat. I volunteer my skin to the spiked shards of glass beneath me, dragging myself across their unforgiving surface.

Knobby gravel, dirt, and grains of sharp glass that I plow through make themselves at home under my nails.

I crawl over the shotgun before I realize it's there, so I have to pull it out from under my chest before I can aim it. I grip it tightly, ready to pull and shoot the second I can see clearly. I can't see; all I see is the color of pain. It's an actual color, I swear.

Gadreel lunges at Cameron, but she ducks to the side, lighter and quicker than a deer.

I strain my vision until a space clears up. Cameron dives to the side, and I take the shot. I raise the gun and put a bullet between his eyes, thanking my stars that Dean taught me how to shoot with my left hand.

I keep the gun leveled at Gadreel's body for a few seconds, just to be sure.

He's not moving.

The pain of...everything...takes over. My fingers become limp noodles, dropping the lead weight of the gun.

"Are you okay?" I gasp to Cameron.

"I think I should be asking you that." She comes forward swiftly, crouching at my side in the glass confetti.

"Can I just comment, you are way too tall." She reaches out her hands, bending and swaying as she struggles to get me to my feet.

My arm declares nuclear war on me.

Somehow, I'm on my feet, leaning on the smoking remains of the sunnyside up car, pointing the weapon at the still body at my feet.

"Cameron, meet Gadreel." I say flatly.

I proceed to empty the entire contents of the gun in his face.

She whistles, crossing her arms and staring down at the mess "I'm pretty sure he's dead..."

"He destroyed my life. I'm not taking any chances." I growl.

I double over my arm as it flares out. The limb looks like a school parking lot...full of speed bumps.

"Do you have service?" I ask Cameron wearily, waving my hand like a phone near my ear.

"My phone's still in the car, but I'll check." She crawls through the driver's window and emerges moments later with the phone clutched in her hand.

"One bar. I'm not sure if it will work, but we can try."

I'm going to pass out. I sit on the ground, letting my head hang down.

"Give it a shot." I sigh.

"Should I call anyone in particular?"

I focus on breathing in...stay awake. Out...don't pass out...in...

"Dean. 452-6658."

...out…

...in...

I tentatively put my fingers against my arm, feeling for all the places it's broken. I count seven.

"Gadreel might be out for the count, but Metatron will still be coming after Dean. We have to warn him and Cas."

She presses the phone to her ear, swaying from one foot to the other impatiently.

"Here, gimme the phone." I gasp.

When she hands it over, I cradle it in my shoulder and continue searching my arm out with my fingers. The light wreaths Cameron's head in a dusky purple, and I realize the sun's going down.

I hiss as my fingers dip into another gap between bone fragments.

I was wrong. Eight breaks. I don't think it qualifies as an arm anymore. So floppy; maybe it's a tentacle.

Dean's voicemail screams into my head, and I wait out his voice until I hear the tone.

"Dean. It's me. If you get this, head back towards I-25. We're on the road coming towards you. The car flipped. I took care of Gadreel, but Metatron is probably still coming. Hurry, Dean."

I hand the phone back up to Cameron. "We need to keep moving."

She nods, looking out at the setting sun as she tucks the phone back into her pocket. "Can you move on your own?"

Can I? No.

Will I?

Probably.

I get to my knees, then tentatively try to make it to my feet. My plan backfires and in a second I'm back on my knees.

"Do you need help?" Now that I'm on my knees, we're about the same height.

"Give me a second." I sit back on my heels, hugging my arm against me and trying to breathe without crying like a girl. After a moment, I pull my knife out of my belt and cut away my sleeve, then slip out of my jacket. I tie it around my arm.

"I wouldn't mind a hand up." I admit.

She sticks her hand out. "That shouldn't be too hard." she clips.

I would laugh if it didn't hurt so much. I stretch out my good hand, bracing myself.

In a moment, I'm on my feet, but I think that's about as good as it's going to get. Saying that my arm absolutely throbs every time I move anything is an understatement.

"You're strong." I rasp.

That's a major understatement. I must at least double her body weight, but that didn't seem to phase her.

I'm definitely beginning to question whether or not this girl is human.

She smirks. "Thank you."

I start limping down the road, biting the inside of my lip to keep from screaming at every step.

I stumble only a few steps in, and in a fleeting blur, I catch sight of my left hand. The one Cameron used to help pull me up. Pieces click together quickly in my head.

"Let me see your hands." I turn to her.

"Why?" she asks, holding them behind her back.

"Don't be stubborn. Just let me see."

She slowly holds out her hands, palms down.

"Turn them over." I order firmly.

After a moments hesitation, she faces her palms upwards.

They're cut. Badly. Blood doesn't so much drip as it does pour from the slits in her skin. The sight of the wounds sends me into instinctive emergency mode. I yank a bandana from my pocket and stick the corner in my mouth and pull, ripping the fabric in half.

She holds out her hands willingly, not meeting my eyes as I one handedly try to bandage her hands. I step up to her before she can back away and start clumsily wrapping the cloth around. She bites her lip, but beyond that, she is expressionless. Blood instantly leaks through the green fabric, creating a dismal, gruesome Christmas collage.

For a moment, I study Cameron's face to make sure she's okay, and I see Jess again. The confused look she wore when she was baking brownies once and burned her hand, and wasn't quite sure if it hurt yet or not. But there's something else here too...something even more raw and wild than Jess. It scares me.

Before I know what I'm doing, I bend down and kiss Cameron's bandaged hands, then turn and start heading down the road.

"Let's get moving."

I don't bother to look back to see if she's coming. I don't want to see her reaction.

Half an hour later, the sun has disappeared completely. I'm still ahead of Cameron a little, but that won't last. I'm only going to go a few more steps without collapsing. Then again, I've been thinking that for the last half hour. I guess it's a Winchester thing. Regardless of whether or not there's a way, there is always a will.

Only a couple more miles, now. We'll be at the bunker, I'll see my brother, and he can stitch up Cameron's hands.

They need stitches. Definitely.

I take another step forward and somehow end up on my knees.

I will get up again. Where there's a will. Free Will. Team Free Will.

Damn. This hurts.

Suddenly, Cameron is right on top of me. "Are you okay?"

"I've been better." I grind out. "Look, unless you think you can carry me, I think we're going to have to wait for Dean to come to us."

I will get up. I will.

She looks at me, sizing me up. Diagnosing me. Examines me. "I guess we'll have to wait..."

"Maybe we could try walking for a while longer if I could lean on you." I suggest. "I don't want you getting caught out here. It's cold, and Dean's not answering."

I will. I can.

She nods. "That would work."

I stagger to my feet and put my hand on her shoulder, far below me. She's too short to lean much of my weight on...it's like trying to use a toothpick as a cane. Her look are deceiving. She's sturdy; she's already proven that.

My saving grace -now _our_ saving grace- in the form of a roaring engine hits my ears.

Moments later, the headlights of a black, '67 hard top Chevy Impala blind us. Some people would just call the car a mess. It's been rebuilt hundreds of times from the disasters its been through. But I call it home.

The man behind the wheel, who's been rebuilt more times than the car, calls it baby, and as he jumps out of the car and runs towards us, he call me a multitude of angry, dirty names. But when he's got his arms around me a moment later, I know that he doesn't mean a single one of them. In just one moment, everything that has separated us, that has driving us apart with no reunion in sight, seems to evaporate.

I scream as Dean's hug crushes my arm. He's instantly in big brother mode, taking his jacket off and adding it as extra support to my arm, then lowering me into the backseat. Then he's distractedly introducing himself to Cameron, who murmurs a quick greeting and slips into the front seat as he holds the door open for her.

As she gets in, she glances back at me, eyebrows raised in a silent question.

I nod, barely able to force out a smile. Thumbs up, sunshiney days, unicorns and rainbows.

She relaxes and focuses back to the front.


	10. Scene 10

**A/N: I would love to receive some feedback on this story so far! Comments are welcomed, even begged for.**

***gets on knees...gets mud on knees...freaks out and jumps up to go take a shower***

**Yeah...leave a comment. Or something.**

The Impala races down the road, Dean shooting chopped questions at me.

Who's the girl.

What happened.

Gadreel?

I answer as best I can, still trying to process that Gadreel is dead. It doesn't seem possible.

At the speed Dean drives, we're at the bunker in less than five minutes. I wonder how long it'll take to explain to our guest why we live in something that look like a militarized hobbit hole, but that will have to come later.

"Cas is still here, right?"

"Yeah, he'll get you fixed up in no time." Dean promises gruffly.

I shudder at his tone of voice. That's not my brother. That's the man who felt an obligation to save my life, maybe nothing more.

I would be an idiot to think that all is forgotten.

Dean unlocks the bunker door and shoves us inside, down the stairs to the main room. Dean almost carries me.

We manage to get situated at the kitchen table just as Cas comes creeping out of the library, like a shy woodland animal coming to inspect a new wonder.

"Sam." he greets me bluntly. Distantly.

"Hi, Cas." I gasp.

"We've got to get him fixed up, pronto." Dean orders.

Cas nods, eying Cameron curiously.

"She's hurt too." I pipe up.

The girl crosses her arms, the spunk she displayed when we met coming back with a vengeance.

"I'm fine. Really." she insists.

"She needs stitches." I argue.

"No, she doesn't, actually." Dean grins. "Someone had a birthday." he nods at Cas.

Cas steps forward, looking confused. "Technically, my birthday isn't..." he pauses as he catches on. "Ummm...Yes, I got my grace back."

I almost gag in relief. "Well, better do me first."

"How chivalrous." Dean says sarcastically.

"Shut up Dean." I look at Cameron, choosing my words carefully. "I don't want to scare her. She needs to see it happen to me before he does her." I address her, now. "Cameron."

"Yes?" she says slowly. At this point, we must all seem like mental institution escapees. Technically, I guess we are.

"Do you trust me?" I brave the question out.

Time stands still, and the cheesy fade out fades back in. She nods blankly.

"Don't just say it. Be honest with me." I plead. "It's important."

"I do." she almost whispers.

Melodramatic, I must admit, but I have to let it slip before it gets awkward.

It already is awkward...I'm about to show her how my angel buddy can heal magically. There's nothing not-awkward about that.

"Okay. Just don't freak out." I reply gently.

I nod at Cas, and he comes forward. He removes the coat from my arm, then places his hands over the damaged limb. A warm glow appears. I can feel it; gently melding back the broken bones, the ripped muscle.

Moments later, my arm is as good as new. I moan in relief.

Cameron's eyes widen.

"You want stitches or magic-hand-glow-man?" Dean asks her sarcastically.

"Dean!" I scold.

"How did he do that...?" Cameron's voice is barely above a low hum, and I don't think she's aware that she's stepping back slowly. Can't blame her.

"Um..." I stand up, reaching out and gently grabbing her arms, trying to make some good, honest eye contact.

"Castiel...he's an angel."

Cas smiles his new-person-hey-I'm-awkward-at-socializing smile. "Hello!"

She gawks at him. "He's a what?"

"Angel." I repeat.

She takes him in...the red, crumpled hoody and beat up blue jeans, tousled dark hair, and slightly crazed smile. "Okay..."

She's gonna lose it. I can tell. She's going to lose it, and Dean and I are going to have calm her down.

"Dude." Dean laughs. "She comes on a wild good chase she knows almost nothing about, watches you off Gadreel, gets flipped over in a car with you, and is standing here while you tell her that an ANGEL just magicked her arm...Sam. Keep her."

"Are you okay?" I ask Cameron, trying to ignore my brother's insensitivity.

She shrugs uncertainly. "I think so."

"So...magic or stitches?" Dean presses.

I want to punch Dean, but I keep holding Cameron's shoulders instead. Something solid and real for her, I guess.

"Well, I've never been a fan of stitches." She replies tonelessly, staring down at her hands.

"Is that a yes?" Cas asks. "I am sorry. Human conversation is still unclear to me at times."

Dean snorts. "Understatement. I told himself the other day to knock himself out, and he actually did." He waves a hand in front of Cas' face. "It means do your best, doofus!"

Cameron smiles weakly. "I'll take the magic or whatever."

I'm just about out of amazement with this kid. Seriously? She can't be human.

Cas does his thing, and moments later, I'm examining Cameron's healed hands in mine.

I grin nervously at her. "Well, how did it feel?:"

Her mouth opens and closes for a moment like a fish out of water before she answers. "It felt..different."

I shake my head, feeling a laugh building in my chest. "Different? That's it? Different?"

She smirks. "What am I supposed to say? It felt magical?"

Dean spits out a mouthful of coffee at her comment.

I'm falling asleep where I sit, exhausted by everything today held. And despite the fact that Cas has healed my arm, I'm still suffering from the burnt hands, the fever...I feel like I'm dying.

"No sign of Metatron, then." Dean comments. "Are you sure he's coming?"

I nod.

"Is Metatron going to pretend to be a rancher or something?" Cameron asks.

I have no idea what she's talking about. Then I recall the weird tone, the drawl that Gadreel had been talking with when I'd first woken up, after the accident. Maybe that's what she's talking about.

"No. It'll be much worse than that." I finally respond.

Dean and Cas have grown quiet, and as quickly as it came, the light atmosphere of the room is gone.

"He's lost his right hand man, I'm sure that that has greatly weakened his destructive forces." Cas suggests.

"So what's the plan?" Dean asks.

"I don't know. Keep the doors locked and hope the sigils hold?" I say.

"Like that's worked so well in the past." Dean says. "Look, let's just crash for the night. We're safe until at least morning; the sigils are pretty strong. We can decide where to go from there. We all need sleep anyway."


	11. Scene 11

**A/N: This is really the first (oops, I mean second) chapter where you're missing important details of the story by just reading my side of it. I can't wait for you to get to read MissAntique's part! **

**And just FYI, all the dialogue has remained unaltered from our original RP sessions, so I apologize if it sometimes reads roughly. We've done our best.**

**Also, you should know that any and all of Cameron's dialogue and actions were written by the fabulous Miss Antique herself, and not me. :) I don't want to take credit that doesn't belong to me here! **

**Sam, Dean, Cas, and any other character appearance from Supernatural is written by the crazy, eccentric, vaguely psychopathic writer(that's me by the way, hello).**

SCENE 11

I head to the kitchen, leaving Dean to figure out where to put Cameron for the night.

I can't focus.

All I can think about right now is ice….frosty, pure, stick-to-your-fingers, ice. Dripping, melting, overflowing out of buckets, covering ponds, clinking in glasses, sinking the Titanic.

I go to the kitchen and fill a huge plastic bag with the beautiful stuff. Then I strip off my shirt, and hold the ice to my burning chest, exhaling sharply at the sudden coldness.

Where's Jessica?

The thought falls out of the sky, hits me on the head out of nowhere. Icy water trickles down my torso.

Think.

When was the last time I saw her? The hotel? The car? Where is she?

Her haunting is disconcerting, disturbing, and painful. That doesn't mean that I can live without it, or that I have the desire to go through my life without hearing her voice ever again.

I keep the ice pressed to me, gripping the countertop with my newly mended hand to keep from screaming.

This...the sickness, the fever, the pain, it can't continue. I won't make it.

I can't make it.

I will.

I have to.

I hear Cas come in behind me. "You're not doing well, are you."

It's not a question. He just knows.

"Now that you have your grace back..." I begin.

Cas shakes his head. "You know that the trials did things to you that even I cannot fix, Sam."

I know.

I pull my shirt back on just as Cameron and Dean walk into the kitchen.

Dean sees the ice packs on the counter top and shoots me the look.

I've seen it so many times. Right after he brought me back after Jake killed me, and I could barely walk from the pain in my back.

The look he gave me after "Adam" and the thing's sister sliced my arms open.

The look he'd give me all through the trials.

My brother wants to know how badly I'm hurting.

I shake my head. No change.

Behind Dean, sitting at the table, Cameron only looks slightly shaken up.

Dean must have given her some sort of warning about not...I don't know...eating me, or something.

Eating.

Cameron must be starving.

I rake through the cupboards and find a granola bar and some dried fruit for her, warn Dean not to tease her to death, and then head for my bedroom.

My head hits the pillow, the impact louder than a cannon hit. Everything is too loud. I curl in on myself, exhausted.

"You have to eat, Sam." Dean says from the doorway.

"I'm not hungry." I argue. It's true. Who would want to eat anything when their insides were on fire?

Dean sighs, still fidgeting awkwardly at the door.

"Come in." I'm not sure if I'm inviting or pleading.

I still have managed to hold back my millions of questions; I'm not sure where I stand with him right now.

How did Cas get his grace back? What has he been doing while I've been gone? What did he do with Kevin's body?

Maybe these questions, and their answers, will just come out; one at a time, as my relationship with him heals.

After another moment of fumbling, Dean steps through the door and begins to pace the length of my room.

"Look. You've only been gone a week, but I swear you've dropped twenty pounds. And you weren't the chunky kind of soup to begin with." Dean says, his eyebrows doing the worried downward dog-thing.

"I'm fine, Dean." I protest half-heartedly.

"No, you're not. And I should have been here for you."

So this is where we are.

Then, for some unknown reason, maybe because I don't want him to feel bad, or because I'm so out of it that this is the only conversation piece I have, I say,

"I have Cameron."

"What do you mean you 'have' Cameron?" Dean asks. He stops pacing. "I thought she just got stuck with you."

"I did too. At first." At this point I'm not sure if I'm being honest or if I'm just trying to cover so my brother quits worrying about me being sick. "She's...not a normal girl. I don't know...she reminds me of Jess."

Dean moans. "I'm not exactly one to give relationship advice, Sam, but you can't be with her because she reminds you of Jess. Jess is gone, man. If this is going to work out with this girl, you have to love her for her."

"You're right. It's not fair to her." I admit.

It's not fair….

It's not fair...I have no idea how we got here. Love is not a factor, but maybe Jessica's name made both myself and Dean jump to that awful, emotional conclusion.

There is nothing to 'work out' with Cameron. I must be sicker than I thought.

Ridiculous.

"Man, just get better, okay?" Dean sighs. "And get some sleep."

He comes over to the side of the bed, picks up the Steelers cup on the table, and looks in it. It's full with water. And ice. He grunts in satisfaction and leaves the room.

"Wake up sleepy head!" Dean brays.

He shakes me, and I take a swing at him, the fevery, sleepy haze keeping me from recognizing him.

"Good grief, kid. Stop it. It's me." Dean growls, pinning down my arms.

He hisses, jerking back his hands, then putting the back of his hand to my forehead and cheek. "You're burning up. We have to get ice on you, pronto."


	12. Scene 12

Dean's already made coffee. Probably his second pot this morning.

He hands me a cup, shoves me down into a seat, and tosses four ice packs down on the table.

"Strip. We're going to get you cooled down." he tells me firmly.

Cameron walks in just as my t-shirt comes off over my head.

"Good morning!" I squeak.

Suddenly, I want to put my shirt back on, to hide myself. I'm nasty. Skeletal. Yellowing.

Vanity will probably kill me before anything else does.

"Morning." She leans back on the countertop and eyes me briefly, just a quick up and down.

"Um, hi, Cameron...hi." Suddenly I just want to disappear. "Um...want coffee?"

I feel Dean's hands trembling with silent laughter as he fastens another ice pack in place. I elbow him hard enough to make him yelp.

"I'd love coffee." she nods.

Incomprehensible. Adjective. Baffling, bewildering. Obscure.

"Cas...get her some coffee. Please." I say. I push Dean away and pull my shirt back on over the ice packs.

Shivers hitch my voice. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Mmhmm." she's obviously staring at the mini igloo I've got going here, but she's silent.

Dean hands her a steaming cup of coffee. "Polite doesn't fly in this house. Just ask already."

She sips the coffee slowly before speaking. "Ask what?"

Dean shrugs. "Everything. We might be crazy, but we'll give you the information you want. Okay? You're not the enemy from what I can tell. So, ask...for instance, why is Sam dressed like a popsicle?"

She nods. "I was questioning that."

"Well question out loud." Dean prods.

"Okay, okay." She clears her throat as if she was a first grade teacher, turns on her heel, and stares straight at me. "Why do you keep using ice packs all of the time?"

"I'm...wow, Dean, thanks. You try to explain."

"His organs got fried by magic." Dean lifts the coffee cup to his lips without ceremony.

"Right. Okay…"

I try to translate what Dean just said. "I took on...angel powers. And that...fried me." Not much better of an answer at all.

"How exactly did you do that?"

"Well, we were trying to keep the world from exploding, and I was the only one around to take on the powers." I say weakly.

Her mouth parts slightly for a moment, then she seems to decide against whatever she was going to say and just nods. "So how did you even get involved with angels?"

Cas jumps on this one, eager to join the conversation.

"Dean was killed, so I gripped him tight and raised him from perdition."

"That's possible?" she sets her coffee down and stares.

"For me, yes." Castiel says. "And then these two…" he gestures magnificently in Dean and I's direction. "...began to believe in my existence. It became hard to deny it."

Dean shoves four pieces of bacon into his mouth. At once. "Yeah, that's enough, Cas. She doesn't need to hear your entire life story."

Cameron shakes her finger at me, processing as the conversation continues.

"Okay then...so another question. Why are you guys hunting down this Metatron?"

"He's the reason Sam is cooked...see," Dean begins. "If Sam had been successful, Metatron would have been dealt with. Kaput. But if he had finished the job, it would have killed Sam, and that was a no go."

"So Metatron's still out there trying to blow up the planet." Cameron concludes.

"And Sam's still fried up inside." Dean finishes.

"Why is he trying to blow up the planet?"

"He's a fallen angel trying to eliminated humankind." Cas says it so simply, he could have just announced that we were out of milk. I look for Cameron's reaction.

She sighs. "Well then. That's not very nice of him."

Now all three of us are just staring at her.

Dean raises his hand like a kid in school. "Um, please marry Sam."

I choke on my coffee.

_Now _she's thrown off guard.

Not when we told her that angels were real, or when one magically fixed her hands, or when we told her that the world was about to end.

"Uh, what?" Her cheeks turn a deep magenta.

"He's just impressed that you're handling this so well." I say quickly, glaring at Dean.

She quickly regains her composure. "Right...Okay." she sniffs.

I'm about to open my mouth to give a better explanation when the lights go out, leaving us sitting in a maroon-tinted darkness. The emergency light in the hall blinks lazily.

"Okay, everyone, grab a weapon. This is it. Cas, go see if you can head him off." Dean directs.

Cas vanishes. Or, I assume he does by the powerful flap of wings, the whoosh of air, and the silence.

Cameron shifts beside me, crashing into a coffee cup and knocking it to the ground.

It breaks. Loudly. Coffee splashes on my legs, and Cameron gasps.

I reach out and find her hand in the dark.

"This way." I pull her towards the armory. I squeeze her hand reassuringly. It's surprisingly chilled to the touch.

I wonder if I'm burning her.

"Don't worry." I whisper.

I can hear her confidence through the darkness. "Please, I'm not worried."

I loosen my grip a little. So she doesn't need me, then. Why did I think she did? And why does it bother me that she doesn't?


	13. Scene 13

"_Dean, please give me the gun." I begged._

_Dean stood, shifting nervously from one foot to the other, balancing the shotgun in his hands. _

"_Daddy said you have to." I pointed out. I loved saying that. It was guaranteed to get a response._

_Dean sighed heavily. "I know, Sammy."_

_I stuck my lip out at him. "Don't call me Sammy. Daddy said you had to teach me how to shoot a gun today. I want to shoot the gun!" _

"_I know." Dean said again. _

"_So…" I said._

_Dad was going to teach me how to shoot, but then Pastor Jim had called him, and he had to leave again, so he'd told Dean to teach me. _

"_Okay." Dean finally began. "Watch."_

_My heart raced eagerly. I was finally getting to shoot for the first time. _

"_Put those on." he pointed at the headphones in my hand. _

"_Why aren't you wearing any?" I complained._

_He winced at the question. "Don't need 'em." _

_Dean raised the gun to his shoulder, put his finger on the trigger, and squeezed._

In the armory, Dean hands us each a flashlight. I shove an angel blade and shotgun in my belt and then hand one of each to Cameron without hesitation. After what happened with Gadreel, there's no doubt in my mind that she can handle herself.

"Just try to stay back unless it looks like you need to jump in." I murmur in her ear.

"Go find Cas, Sam." Dean tells me. "Cameron and I will start warding the entrances."

I pause for a moment. I can go. Dean will make sure nothing happens to her.

I stumble down the hallway, my head swirling and making it impossible to walk in a straight line.

I can't keep going like this...not with so much at stake.

I trip and fall through the doorway of our lookout room. It's a perfect room for situations like this. Thin windows run horizontal to the floor at eye, just above ground outside. We can see out without being seen.

Cas catches me before I hit the ground.

"Sam?"

"I'm okay, Cas."

He's about to argue, but then seems to think better of it.

"You...are a brave fool." he says.

That's one term for it. I was thinking more along the lines of 'stubborn idiot.'

"See anything yet?" I ask.

Dean and Cameron come in and join us at the windows.

"Nothing. They must already be inside." Cas replies.

"They?" Cameron's voice approaches faltering, but maintains control.

"I think Metatron has gathered together his remaining followers." Cas says gravely. "The only way we can defeat them will be a complicated ruse ending with a banishing sigil. If you banish me with them, I can kill them. But it will take all of us."

I lean over to Cameron, almost tipping over as I whisper in her ear. "It'd probably help if you knew what was going on. He's saying we fight them off as a distraction until they finish drawing the sigils. That's all we have to do. Cas can handle it from there. Not much humans can do at that point."

"Okay, that makes a lot more sense." she mumbles.

"It's Cas. Most of the time we just nod and smile when he talks." I whisper.

"Sam, you forget I am a supernatural being with advanced sense of hearing." Cas says, tracing a sigil on the floor without looking up.

I just nod and smile at him.

Cameron chokes, and Cas' supernatural-being-senses don't pick up on the fact that the choke was actually a laugh.


	14. Scene 14

**A/N: This segment, and anything from here on out regarding Metatron is pretty AU...I wrote most of this story only weeks after Kevin's death, so any character/plot development after that is unaccounted for in this story. I apologize, but I hope you enjoy my ideas on what could have happened, as well as my portrayal of Metatron's character.**

"Well, hello Team Free Will!" Metatron announces, appearing suddenly in the room. "I hear that's what you're calling yourselves now."

His gaze darts over to Cameron, beady eyes flashing. "And you've added a soft, pretty bit. Hello, sexy." He chirps.

I step out in front of her, my already steaming blood rising to a boil.

Three other angels step up beside Metatron, surrounding us.

I hold out my hand to Cameron. Stay back.

"Where's Castiel? I _did_ want to see him again." Metatron says wistfully.

Dean nods at me, and together we step forward and start shooting. The ruse has begun, the game's afoot...blah blah blah.

Metatron vanishes behind his army, avoiding our bullets easily.

I take out one of the angels, my heart sinking as another one appears to take its place.

One rushes at Cameron, and I shout a warning to her. She doesn't hesitate as she raises her gun, hitting her attacker square in the chest.

Dean laughs his crazy battle laugh as he leaps at a tall, dark haired woman, seizing her by the throat and forcing her to the ground. She throws him off effortlessly, and he smacks into the wall with a sickening crunching sound.

I dive towards her. A huge, muscular angel is pounding towards me. I chuck my knife at him, praying it hits its target.

It does, with a satisfying, sucking thud.

I fly into the woman angel, knocking her to the ground. Before she can throw me off to join my brother, I shoot her in the head. One glance confirms that Cameron can hold her own. She's fine. She flees my thoughts as I rush over to the crumpled pile of Dean in the corner.

It's over. Just like that, we've killed all of them.

Metatron has disappeared. I've started considering how bad this is when a fresh bunch of angels appears out of thin air.

I scream for Cameron to watch out.

Dean charges after one angel while I aim at another that's running towards me. I realize a second too late that I'm empty. He knocks me to the ground. My head bounces against concrete, and I lose vision for a moment. When I can see again, Cameron is already rushing towards me and my would-be killer. I pray that she has the brains to wait until she has a clean shot.

The shot is perfect.

I scramble to my feet, pushing the dead angel off my chest, and thank Cameron silently.

Everything drops. Deadly silence fills the air.

Without warning, Dean crumples to the ground, screaming as blood starts pumping from his chest.

Red gushes out over his clothes onto the floor, and he flops in it like a fish on land. Drowning in his own lungs, in his own blood. Metatron is standing, facing him, a wry grin on his face. His hand is raised masterfully as he summons more blood from Dean's body.

Time to run. I shout at Cameron to help me with Dean.

I'm already drenched in my brother's blood by the time I get his arm over my shoulders. Cameron is clutching at his other arm, and we just start to move our feet when we come to a frozen halt.

Painful, electric-like power wraps itself around us, rendering our bodies completely paralyzed.

Slowly, I feel myself rotating towards Metatron. I test my voice, and find that it has not been silenced like the rest of me has.

"Cas!" I scream.

Moments later, his perdition-raising grip has transported us, and Metatron and the look-out room are replaced by our dungeon.

Free from Metatron's grip, I collapse to the ground, feeling like I am nothing but skin and blood, no bone.

"Cas, just in time. He can't follow us here, right?" I gasp.

"It will take him a few minutes, yes." Cas affirms.

He touches Dean's chest, and the blood flow instantly stops.

"Cameron? Are you alright?" I ask.

She nods, stretching her freed arms. "Yeah, but what the heck just happened?"

I turn to Cas. "Well?"

"We need a new plan." He says grimly.

Dean grunts, slowly sitting up. He looks helpless and lost in the puddle of blood, but it's an angry wild bull kind of helpless and lost. Dangerous.

"Please don't tell me you just said what I think you just said." He moans to Cas.

I have nothing, and I can tell by the look on Dean's face that he has no ideas either.

"You could always send me; use the banishing sigil. Like we were planning. Except, instead of Cas, use me." I suggest.

Cameron crosses her arms. "Um, I'm not really sure about that. It sounds far too risky if you ask me."

I stare at her. "Yeah? And you suddenly have an opinion why?"

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. "Well, what you suggested sounds really dangerous...and...I, uh...I don't want you to get hurt."

Not getting hurt is a moot point. The idea of this girl that I hardly know, the girl that I had an awkward conversation with Dean about, the girl that looks like Jessica, caring. That's unexplored ground.

"Cameron, what's gotten into you? You know nothing about sigils, or Metatron..."

I see Dean making gestures at her from the corner of my eye, and suddenly I'm clued in to everything that's happening in this moment. The poor girl has been roped into acting as puppet to Dean. She's just the messenger.

"Oh. Obviously." I storm at my brother. The months and weeks of emotions, and how much his protection hurt me, all comes to the surface at a roaring, volcanic boil. "You're going to let me do this, got it? I have to finish what I started." I shout.

Dean grabs my shoulders and shoves me angrily. "Sammy, no." His voice cracks.

"I will go. I can do this." Cas offers.

"You know you can't. It has to be me." I say firmly.

We can't risk using our one angel to put up the sigils. He just saved our lives moments ago. If he's out of earshot, if he's preoccupied, we're toast. Really, really burnt toast.

Cas rolls his eyes and touches my forehead, and just as I realize what he's doing, the world goes black.


	15. Scene 15

Dean slaps me awake.

"Sam, come on. It's just you and me, man. You gotta help fight off Metatron."

The air around me is humming, filled with a million invisible bees that are all droning out the same tone: danger. danger. danger.

It's just Dean and I.

"Where's Cameron?" I demand.

Dean pretends that he didn't hear me.

I repeat my question, louder this time. Dean ignores me, handing me my shotgun. "I reloaded it for you. Let's do this."

Before I have time to ask again, the door to the dungeon explodes open, and we are instantly eyeball-deep in hand-to-hand combat. Hand to hand, man to angel. An army of fierce supernatural beings, with Metatron at their head.

Someday, we'll have good odds.

I'm not holding my breath.

I swing my blade with one hand, severing one grunt's throat. With the other hand, I shoot at Metatron, but he keeps managing to dodge my bullets.

Another angel henchman meets his fate at the tip of my blade, but as he goes down, he swings out his own knife and catches my shoulder, the smooth edge of the blade bumping along as it catches, and then cuts muscle and skin on its way down.

So great, my left arm is useless. I blink, the pain and shock making me unsure of myself.

Fortunately, with our brother instinct, Dean is making up for this. We go back to back, me shooting as many angels as I can aim at, Dean swinging his blade. Cas is with us; he circles around us, frying his enemies out with a single touch, one, sometimes two at a time.

"Dean." I get out between shots. "Just tell me that Cameron is safe and alive."

"Alive?" Dean shouts, stabbing out. "Probably."

My heart drops. What has my brother done?

"Safe?" Dean answers my other question. "I'm gonna have to say no."

I grip my shoulder in my hand as I look around.

"Did we get all of them?" I pant.

Cas reappears to answer my question, sweat shining on his forehead.

"No. Metatron has retreated."

"So does that mean that the sigils won't work?"

"Yes." Cas states.. "They're useless if he is not here."

"Let's get him back down here then!" I say.

"Dean, what sigils? What's going on?"

Dean won't meet my gaze.

"Cameron?" I can barely whisper the question. She can't be out all alone. She doesn't even know how to draw the sigils.

"It was the only choice we had." Dean insists.

"No...no, no...I'm going after her." I mumble, starting to reload. My right hand refuses to help, and the shells that were in it make a clattering rain around my feet.

Dean grabs my shoulder. "If you go after her, she's definitely dead. You know that." he warns.

I know.

I can't go after the girl, so the best use of my energy seems to be to rip Dean apart.

"How could you, Dean?"

"Don't. Don't you blame me for this! She volunteered, and if she hadn't, we would all be dead right now! Including her! Including you! So shut up!"

I slug him across the jaw. Even though it murders my shoulder, the hit feels good.

"So what happens when she finishes? Huh? She gets zapped up to kill Metatron?" I demand.

I know it's not true. I know she'll return here, and Cas will do the heavy lifting. But I'm too wound up to be rational. "What if Metatron goes after her, huh? How does she not die if that happens?"

"It's not going to happen." Dean tries to calm me down.

"Says who?" I'm practically screaming now. "Metatron will either kill her or use her as leverage. Dean, you've doomed her!"

"Not if Metatron isn't coming back." Cas says softly.

"How are you so sure, Cas?" I demand. "How do you know he's not coming back?"

Cas looks over my shoulder and smiles. "I don't. I was lying. Stalling you."

"Why?" I ask, wondering why he's smiling.

"Until she got back." Cas replies, pointing over my shoulder.


	16. Chapter 16

"I did it!" Cameron's voice pants behind me.

Cas nods. "Well done." He nods at Dean and I. "See you on the other side."

Then he vanishes.

She's here. She's alive.

For just a second, I think she's hurt, but then it becomes obvious that it's not blood, but paint that creates the blotched streak on her face. She pants, her blonde hair making a halo of frizz around her head as she wipes her hands on the fronts of her jeans.

She's fine. I go to her, wrapping my arms around her and holding tight.

"I'm so glad you're not dead." I gasp.

She stiffens for a moment, then melts into me, hugging me back.

"I'm not dying that easily." she laughs breathlessly.

I hold her out at arms length.

"You're okay? Are you hurt?"

She smiles, shaking her head. "I'm fine. Don't worry."

She gets pulled in again, more tightly this time.

"Sam." Dean says gently. "We need to get you taken care of. You're a ticking time bomb of health disasters without us having to worry about you bleeding to death."

The shoulder agrees with Dean. The jagged cut makes a canyon from my shoulder, halfway down to my elbow. My torn shirt clings to the raw, open flesh, dyed a dizzying crimson.

"I'm fine, Dean." I argue.

Cameron joins me in examining my shoulder, chewing on her lip in concentration and...concern?

I bury my face in her hair, trying to breathe and convince myself that she's really here.

Not dead. Not hurt.

Also, the genius who just saved all our lives.

"Thank you." I whisper.

"Look, hate to break up your Disney moment." Dean coughs. "But Cas should be back any minute, and if anything went wrong, he'll have Metatron with him...and then he'll need all the help he can get."

Cameron slowly pulls away from me. "Right, let's hope whatever the heck I did doesn't mess up. I think?"

Dean nods. "Right. Come on, you two. He's probably going to show up in the lounge."


	17. Scene 17

I hold one hand over my shoulder. Dean was right; I'm bleeding pretty bad, but it won't be a problem when Cas and his powers get back. I reach my other hand down and entwine my fingers in Cameron's. It's dark, and Dean is ahead of us. Can't see our hands.

We weave our way around the halls where Cameron painted the sigils. I softly explain to her that if we get too close while Cas is using them it could kill us. That should relax her.

Dean gets us into the lounge, hands Cameron a towel to wash the paint off her hands and face, and comes to me to pull the shirt away from my shoulder.

Cameron wipes at her blouse as she walks over to get a better look.

"Should we wrap that until Cas gets back?" she suggests.

Dean flaps a hand at her dismissively. "I've got it."

She steps closer."You sure? I'm pretty good with these sort of wounds."

"Yeah, I'm sure." Dean doesn't even look at her this time.

The blood loss is messing with my head, but I grin as I see the fiery Cameron-beast rising to the surface, stubborn and unwilling to back down, refusing to take no for an answer.

"And it takes more delicate hands, which I don't think you have." she bites.

Dean slowly turns to her, studying her face. His boisterous smirk flashes out, melting his scowl, and he hands her the towel in his hands.

"You know, for a girl, you're not great at sending off signals about taking care of your man. Oh," he says at the flush these words bring to her cheeks. "Sorry. Not your man. Just a random guy who dragged you into this mess." He puts up his hands and backs away, smiling mischievously.

"Have at it, m'lady."

She coughs awkwardly and bends over me, her eyes narrowing into slits as she wipes at the blood with the towel.

I wince as the rough fibers grating against the wounds.

As the pain increases, I lock my fingers around Cameron's arm, using it to anchor myself to reality and away from the pain. She pauses, realizing that I'm in pain, and when I relax a little, she starts again, roughly scraping at the wound as the blood keeps leaking out.

I lick my dry lips to speak and taste salt, dust and blood.

Releasing my grip on her arm, I move my hands down to hers, pulling her and the towel away from my shoulder. She's nervous; she's smart enough to know better than this.

"Cam." I say gently. "If you wipe, it's just going to keep opening. Apply pressure, like this." I press her hands and the towel firmly against my shoulder, gritting my teeth a little. "It'll stop bleeding faster this way."

She nods shakily, pressing almost too hard now.

I hold my hands steadily over hers, feeling her tremble slightly.

Everything must be hitting her; what's happened, what's she's just seen. I don't know much about her yet, but I do know that no matter what she's experienced in her life has come anywhere close to preparing her for what she's just seen.

She slowly raises her eyes from my shoulder, making eye contact. I'm about to open my mouth when Cas crashes into the room, bleeding and panting.


	18. Scene 18

"He's coming." Cas gasps.

I try to smile at Cameron, try to reassure her, but my face just twists into a weary grimace as I set the bloody towel aside.

My feet are lead blocks, but somehow I manage to get moving, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I whip my gun from my belt, checking to make sure I have ammo.

Here we go again.

Metatron shoves Cas to the ground and strides regally towards me.

"You absolute child." he says, shaking his head. "All this time, you thought that this was about Dean. It's really been about you. We've been after you this whole time." he smiles. "But you have give us time to observe the best way to eliminate you. And we believe it's through these three people." he gestures around the room. At Dean's angry face, at Cameron's pale one, and at Cas, who is slowly picking himself up from the floor, ready to kill.

"We take your girl, your brother, and your friend, and really, you have nothing left." Metatron says.

I've known, maybe unconsciously, this whole time. Gadreel wants me as his vessel. They want me as a weapon.

"Cameron, do stop thinking so hard. You're wearing me out." Metatron looks past me to where I know she's standing..

"Excuse me?" She says softly, fear lacing her words.

"Trying to hide your emotion. Stop it." He says.

"Don't let him get to you." I say quickly. "He can't really read your thoughts. It's a trick."

Metatron glares at me, pointing his finger like a gun.

Invisible spikes bore themselves into the entire length of my spine. I can't stand anymore. The concrete floor welcomes me as its own, drinking up more of the blood from my shoulder and making my back worse. It is another tormentor; it is in league with Metatron. I can't stay down here.

Cameron slams into the ground, her head bouncing against the concrete at a flick of Metatron's finger. I scream her name, impossibly getting to my feet to attack the angel.

My knife flies at him, but he easily sides steps my move.

I'm back on the ground before I can blink.

"Seriously? This is it? You disappoint me." Metatron sighs.

I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling every piece of glass that has decided to make a home in my cheek.

Metatron is still smiling when a blade sticks itself out of his chest. He falls, a confused look reigning over his face as he meets death.

Cas sighs and wipes his blade on Metatron's coat.

"His flair for theatrics always was his downfall." he comments soberly.


	19. Scene 19

Cameron is down.

Everything that was stopping me from letting her in before is right here. Evidence that it was a bad idea to welcome her. She's hurt. It's my fault.

I warned her.

I can see her on top of the floor, everything turned sideways. She faces me, crumpled on her side, her arms lying limply in front of her. She lies where she fell.

Her hair wafts out beneath her head, the gold strands pillowing her cheek, splaying in every direction. She's looking at me. Her big, green eyes ask me a million questions. She's scared. Really, really scared.

Her eyelids fall, shutting me out, and I realize with horror that she's suffering, that she's in pain.

Her hair waves lightly in front of her as she exhales, slow and quiet. Then she sits up, rising out of my sight.

I want to get up. I have to help her. The pain in my back snakes and writhes, binding me to gravity and the ground that is commanded by it.

Dean comes to my rescue, reaching out and grasping her by the shoulders and pulling her to her feet.

"No sudden movements." he says gently.

Cas bends down and pulls me up, and I cry out, feeling every muscle in my back convulse in protest.

I'll be fine. I rush to Cameron.

She blinks, her gaze drifting slowly, waveringly, from Dean to me.

"It'll take a minute, but I think you're okay." Dean says, his hand still on her elbow, steadying her. "Cas? Check her out?"

"Wait, what happened?" She mumbles.

She's hit her head. Nothing else is wrong. Metatron just knocked her down.

She's fine. She'll be okay. It's just a concussion. She's confused.

Cas bends in front of her, taking her face between his hands and peering inquisitively at into it.

His eyes widen. "Oh no."

My hope dies, extinguishes without a sound, without a breath.

"What is it?" Cameron whispers.

She shivers, her fingers splaying at her bare arms, trying to comfort herself, trying to urge some warmth into her bones. Her body sways like an autumn leaf.

"Cas, what did he do to her?" I plead.

"He...I don't know." Cas puts his hands to her head again. "He's removed something from her...I'm not sure what it is."

"How did he...remove something?" she asks.

"The same way he cut open Dean's chest without touching him, and injected a line of mild poison into Sam's spine from four feet away." Cas explains.

Alarm, alarm, big brother mode.

Dean rushes over to me, all concerns for Cameron leaving his face. He takes my good arm and wraps it over his shoulder, inviting me to lean on him. I let him support most of my weight, focusing on breathing.

Cameron nods slowly, still pondering Cas' diagnosis. "So...can you find out what he removed?"

"It will take a while, we basically have to do an inventory of all your systems, and by a process of elimination find out what its gone." Cas says.

He touches her shoulder gently, almost compassionately, and then turns to me. He reaches out, his hand pressing against my chest.

My shoulder and my back are whole again. It doesn't matter. Metatron's death, our victory over him, doesn't matter.

Nothing matters.


	20. Scene 20

Cameron trails along dizzily beside me, almost staggering as she zigzags down the hallway.

Cas marches behind us, stiff with anger, walking a perfectly straight path to negate the crooked one that Cameron is taking.

We make a horrific parade.

We could have stayed in the dungeon while Cas examines Cameron, but I thought it was a bad idea...after what we -specifically her- have just witnessed and went through, it seemed best to get as far away from the room as possible.

Dean insisted on staying behind. Said he needed to clean up the dungeon.

I'm grateful for his intuition. If I have any say in it, Cameron will never see another angel corpse as long as she lives.

Cameron's breaths hitch in and out, unsteadily, and I watch her out of the corner of my eye while she tries so hard to keep her composure.

"Don't be scared. He's probably making it sound worse than it is." I try to convince her, jerking my head in Cas' direction.

Cas opens his mouth to protest that no, it most likely is as horrible as it sounds, but I cut him off with a killer glare. He gets the idea.

"Okay…" she whispers.

She can't keep pretending to be okay.

Bending, I wrap my arms around her legs and waist and lift her, holding her against me. She leans her head on my shoulder and doesn't move again until we're in the kitchen.

I set her down at the kitchen table, trying to make her comfortable. She seems like she's almost in a trance; her eyes are glazed over and her movements are slow and robotic.

Cas is gentle with her, bless him. He explains, albeit vaguely, each spell, each test, before he does them.

She complies, sitting still as he searches out her soul, gives her different potions to drink, and chants incantations over her.

I try to ignore that his expression becomes more grim with every passing moment.

Finally, after standing and staring at her for a long moment, he sighs and shakes his head. Then he pulls me aside, out of the room.

"I know what he did to her." he says sadly.

His words don't even make sense. That's impossible.

"What?" I stutter.

I can't comprehend what Cas has diagnosed. It doesn't make sense. It can't be true.

"You have to tell her." Cas says.

"No, no I don't. She'll live without it." I protest.

Cas tilts his head, looking at me with the pitying puppy gaze that I've come to despise over the years.

"She will be doing things, and breathing, and waking, but can you call it living?" he challenges.

I have no answer for that.

Every step I take towards the kitchen, towards Cameron, is like man's first step on the moon.

Giant.

Impossible.

Yet...happening. Real.

He's right, I have to tell her.

She doesn't look any different.

She should, considering. She just doesn't. She's still Cameron. Gorgeous. Fierce. Small.

"Cameron…"

I can't do it.

I kneel in front of her, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Cam...tell me who I am. To you."

She raises an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know...just think about it. And whatever comes to your head. You're going to have to be honest."

She shakes her head, bewildered. "Sam, what is this about?"

"Just tell me!"

"I...I don't know!"

I scrub at my face with my hands while she stares at me.

Her gaze is cold, calculating. Confused, but not concerned. Dead.

Cas was right. Metatron has removed love.

"Sam?" she says

I can't stand to look at her. I walk out of the room, leaving her with Cas.

My body protests against the running, but I don't stop. The hallways blur into a gray mist as I fly past them, and I charge towards the dungeon like a mad bull. I see crimson.

I tumble into the dungeon, where Dean is unceremoniously stuffing Metatron's body into a Hefty no-odor trash bag.

My brother drops what he's doing, the obvious question about my well-being dancing at his lips; the question he always asks. He takes in my face, my heaving chest. He wants to ask if I'm okay, but he already knows the answer. Besides, he knows what's on my mind.

He switches gears mid-sentence. "Is she okay?" he asks gently.

He wipes blood from his palms onto his jeans as he approaches me.

I shake my head.

"Can we fix it?"

"Yes." I decide. "We'll find a way."


End file.
